


Friction

by sffan



Series: Physics [3]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 08:20:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7525321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sffan/pseuds/sffan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yohji and Aya get trapped in a tight space.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friction

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is from a previous archive, written between 2002 and 2008. No additional changes or edits have been made since it’s original posting date and none will be.  
> 
> Original Notes:  
> Not betaed.

The last thing Aya hears is Yohji’s voice screaming, “Aya, look out!” And then Yohji’s body slams into his and they crash to the ground. When he comes to, Yohji is lying on top of him, his long-fingered hands cradling his face, and he’s murmuring, “Wake up. C’mon you stubborn bastard. I _know_ your head is harder than that.”

Aya opens his eyes. It’s dark, with only a very faint light coming from above and to the right.

“Aya? Thank the Gods. Are you okay?” Yohji must sense Aya’s glare, because there’s no way he could see it in the darkness. “Heh. Stupid question. Sorry.”

“Get off me, Kudoh,” Aya growls and shakes his head away from Yohji’s fingers. He immediately regrets it when he sees stars flash in front of his eyes.

“Can’t,” Yohji says. “We’re kind of trapped.”

“What do you mean trapped? What the hell happened?” Aya demands. He tries to focus on the important things, like getting the hell out of here, and not on the way Yohji’s body feels pressed against him or his scent – a mixture of leather, cigarette smoke, and the faintest hint of the herbal soap that Yohji liked to use.

“That little Schwarz shit collapsed half a building on us, to cover their escape, that’s what happened. So, we’re pretty much stuck here until Ken and Omi get back with something that can lift this thing off of us.”

Aya can feel the panic building in him. He’s far too aware of the effect Yohji’s proximity is having on him. Aya berates himself for the weakness. He should never have given in to the impulse to touch Yohji – ever since he had, he can’t seem to keep the other man out of his head or his dreams. Aya can’t afford the distraction that he knows starting any kind of physical relationship with Yohji would be. But he knows that it’s already too late. And he can tell from the low chuckle that Yohji’s aware of the effect he’s having on him, too.

“Oh, kitten, is this for me?” Yohji teases and presses down with his hips. Aya barely suppresses a moan when Yohji rubs against his burgeoning erection.

“Kudoh…” Aya says in his coldest voice, hoping it’s enough to warn Yojhi off. It’s not. Warm fingers stroke his face and neck, tilting his chin upwards. When he tries to shift away, the fingers dig in, holding him still.

“Oh, no you don’t. You can’t avoid me now,” Yohji says before covering Aya’s mouth with his own. Yohji’s tongue traces over his lips. Aya tries to tear his mouth away and bucks his hips, succeeding in only making himself dizzy and in pressing his groin even harder against Yohji. Yohji grinds his hips downward and presses his tongue more insistently against Aya’s lips. With a quiet moan, Aya surrenders and opens his mouth. He slides his hands up to Yohji’s hips, grips them tightly, and arches upward as much as he can in the confined space.

Yohji groans, “Oh, Aya, yes,” and kisses him deeply. Their tongues wrestle for control and the tiny space echoes with their sounds of pleasure. They kiss frantically and rock against each other harder and harder, and soon Aya’s gasping against Yohji’s neck as he comes in his pants like a teenager. The only saving grace is that Yohji comes shortly thereafter.

Yohji rests his head on Aya’s shoulder and catches his breath. “Good thing these coats are long,” he jokes.

Aya barely has the energy to growl.

“Kitten,” Yohji teases.

“Fuck off, Kudoh. And stop calling me that,” Aya grumbles, the throbbing in his head getting stronger.

Yohji plays with one of his eartails, twining it around his fingers. “But it suits you so well.”

The crackle of Omi’s voice coming over Yohji’s earpiece interrupts Aya’s reply.

“Balinese? Come in, come in please.”

“Hey, Bombay. What’s the news? You getting us out of here?”

“Yes. Siberian’s hooking up the equipment right now. We should have you out in a few minutes. How’s Abyssinian?”

“He’s awake now. Everything seems intact, including his temper,” Yohji answers and then realizes that Aya’s being very quiet. He leans in closer and cuts off his connection with Omi. “Aya? Aya? Fuck.” Aya tries to open his eyes to tell Yohji he’s fine and to not worry Omi, but he can’t seem to get his brain to focus.

“I think you’d better hurry, Bombay. I think Abyssinian’s passed out again.”

“We’re on it. Over and out for now.”

The last thing Aya hears before a black wave of unconsciousness pulls him under is Yohji’s worried voice saying his name.


End file.
